Cops and Ninjas
by meganechan720
Summary: He'd never wanted to hurt a cop, but what choice did he have? He was practically on top of him, and he wasn't hidden very well and he was going to be discovered and they were all going to end up in Bishop's lab as turtle sushi. Breathe, Mike. Breathe.
1. turtle soup is not on the menu tonight

_Oh, shell_.

He couldn't get away. The cop was practically on top of him, and he wasn't hidden very well and he was going to be discovered and they were all going to end up in Bishop's lab as turtle sushi. _Breathe. Breathe. Not too loud, he'll hear you—oh, shell!_

"Hey, are you all right?"

This is it. He'd never wanted to hurt a cop, but what choice did he have? He tightened his grip on his weapon and thought furiously. _If I take this one out, the others will be all over me as soon as they notice. So I've got to do this quietly._

"Oh, it's you. Hey, I've got a question for you. Were you guys at that rumble down in the Bronx last week?" He froze. "Because we know it's not your usual territory, but Carter swears he saw you, and he won't shut up about it, so if you could tell me we can settle this once and for all holy mackerel, that's a lot of blood."

He relaxed, marginally. It _was_ a lot of blood, and the cop wasn't calling for backup or even acting very scared. Maybe turtle sushi would not be on the menu tonight.

"How… do you know…?" Crap. He could barely breathe through the cracked ribs, and he winced. The cop had taken off his jacket and was placing it over him.

"How do we know about you guys? Oh, come on. You're secretive and mysterious, but enough thugs left tied up gabbling about little green men and what all is bound to make a pattern. And plenty of us in the force have seen you, or your handiwork at least. You're legends! How are you injured?"

He decided to just go with it. He was fuzzy-headed from loss of blood as it was, and the guy didn't seem interested in turning him in. Maybe Turtle Luck didn't last forever.

"Broken… ribs. Stab wound… shoulder… Weren't at… the Bronx…"

The cop laughed and checked his shoulder, taking out a handkerchief and pressing it into the wound gently.

"That's great! Carter could use a little piece of humble pie. Hey, I have another question. There's all kinds of pools about you going around, but my favorite is the one that got started by some of the office ladies. They just call it, 'What do they wear under that shell?'" The cop leered at him playfully and tightened the coat around him, keeping the kerchief in place. "By the way, do the others know where you are? Are they coming?"

"Yeah… called them… What's… under the… shell?"

The cop moved back into the light with the force of the resulting belly laugh, and he could see the name on the badge: North.

"Oh, come on, you know. Like that question, what do you wear under your kilt? It's obvious you guys are all male, but the ladies are curious."

He rolled his eyes.

"Gonna… stay… curious…"

Another belly laugh.

"Well then, what about answering one of mine? How old are you?"

What the shell. Couldn't hurt to tell him that.

"Sixteen."

North's face sobered and he swore lightly.

"Are all of you that young?"

"Yup."

North shook his head slowly.

"My daughter's sixteen. I can't imagine letting her run around these streets like you guys do. Hey—" He looked up sharply, like something had just occurred to him. "Is it just you four? Are you all alone?"

"Our… father… Trained us…"

North got a dark look in his eyes.

"I'd have words for him, if I ever met him."

He didn't say anything to that. That was something too complicated to explain with busted ribs. He looked up. "My… brothers… they're here…"

North looked up and around, and he smiled, knowing that the man wouldn't be able to see them. North looked back down.

"All right. Just remember, not all of us are on your side, but… lots of us are. Let me know you're okay, will you? Geez, you're just a kid. I'm gonna worry now."

"Don't… worry… Be… happy…"

North laughed again, and stood up.

"You can keep the jacket, but I'll need my badge and the stuff in my pockets."

He let North take his things, and then let the policeman give him one last stern look before leaving the alley. Once North was gone, his brothers leapt down and he relaxed, knowing everything would be okay.

North laughed so hard his secretary poked her head in to his office to see what was the matter. He waved her off, not wanting to show her the piece of sketch paper he had just found on his desk depicting a turtle-man wearing a kilt. He laughed and laughed, and felt immensely better.


	2. cops and ninjas

_More, by popular demand. Partly in response to a plot bunny from Connie Nervegas on Stealthy stories. Sorry for the chapter repost._

* * *

North scowled at the piece of paper in front of him.

He didn't want to believe it, but the report had been written by Milanovich, the most serious man on the force. If Milanovich said it was so, it was so. It was just…

He brought up the patrol schedules on his computer and put himself on the Bleeker Street route.

* * *

"Hey, Northie!"

North turned at the voice, a smile creeping across his face despite his mood. Michelangelo had that effect on people. The nickname helped.

"Hello, Mike. What's up?"

"Oh, the usual. April's worried about some punks who were here earlier, so we're standing guard. What's the haps with you, my man?"

"Actually, I wanted to speak with you about something," North said, stifling a laugh. Mikey tried to talk jive, but if he weren't green he'd be white, white, white.

"Oh?"

Not that it was at all easy to see _what_ color he was, since he was in the shadows of the alley and North was loitering outside it.

"I received a report today about a robbery."

"Oh? Anything we can help with?"

North sighed.

"I believe you've already done more than enough on this particular case, Michelangelo. A witness claims to have seen a wet, two-toed footprint on the ground. Of course, it had dried up by the time the police got there, but the witness was reliable…"

He heard the boy groan.

"Aw, man. Sometimes we really suck at being ninjas."

"Well?" He wasn't about to let Mike sidetrack the discussion with humor. There was a silence. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

When he spoke, his voice was low and serious, and North wondered if he'd hit a nerve.

"…look, North, it's not like we can legitimately buy stuff even if we wanted to. Which we do. Do you know what I'd give to be able to _walk_ into a store and just buy something? But I can't. None of us can, and April's not that rich. We get what we can from junk yards and garbage cans, but sometimes that isn't enough. My brother was dying, North. Don't tell me what I did was wrong."

North sighed. There was the nerve. And the kid had a point. Still…

"Michelangelo, I still have my reservations about the lifestyle your family leads. I can understand a little stealing, of important stuff. (Don't tell anyone I said that.) But the fact that your Master had you kill someone out of revenge—"

"Aw, North, don't start up on that again. We've been over this. I thought you understood."

"I _understand_ that if you were human I'd report the lot of you to social services."

"Well, if we were _human_ our lives wouldn't be so messed up in the first place. If we were _human_ we would have had parents and a house and _food_ every day. If we were _human_—"

Michelangelo must have realized he was shouting, for he suddenly stopped. He lowered his voice.

"If we were human we could go to the hospital."

North digested this.

"How is your brother, by the way? What happened?"

"It's not something that concerns you _humans_," the boy said bitterly. North resisted the urge to yell at him for it.

"Look, I'm sorry it hurts you so much that I don't approve of your code of ethics. I'm glad that you want to help people, and I think you do a lot of good. But you're awfully young to be putting yourself at such a risk, and I think you have the wrong idea about some things."

"Well, just think about that when you're in the basement of Bateman Apartments on 14th."

The change of subject was so abrupt he had to think about it for a minute.

"What's in Bateman Apartments?"

"That's where they're keeping her."

North went cold. Mike knew about his obsession with finding the missing daughter of Frank Gerhardt, his friend and wealthy business owner. Was this a lead?

"Mike, how did you find that out? What have you been doing? Mike?"

But there was no answer. North shook his head. _Ninjas…_


	3. who is that masked man anyway

North knew something was up when he saw four of them.

They were letting him see them, and he found that interesting. He took a step backward out of the pool of light and into the shadows, where they would be on more equal ground. He raised his hand in greeting, and lowered it slowly when he saw the look on Mike's face.

"Hey, North," Mike said, sounding dejected. A slightly bigger turtle with a blue mask was standing behind him, doing a very good impression of a father forcing his son to apologize for something. North resisted the urge to laugh. That had to be Leo.

"Hey, Mike. So, I take it these are your brothers?"

"Yeah. This is Leo, Raph and Don," Mike said, gesturing. North nodded to each of them.

"It's good to finally meet you," he said. There was an awkward silence. Then Don stepped forward, after glancing nervously at his other two brothers.

"It's good to meet you too. Mikey's told us a lot about you."

"Most of it good, I hope?" North said lightly. He wasn't surprised at the tense atmosphere. How had Mike described Leo? _A ninja mother-hen._ A clan of ninja mutant turtles would likely be more wary of the police than a regular gang. Donny laughed nervously, but none of the others did. The one in red was fingering the sai stuck in his belt and glowering. North hoped what Mike had told him about Raph being a big softie on the inside was true. Leo stepped forward.

"We thank you for assisting our brother in his time of need," he said formally, bowing at the waist. North inclined his head.

"Of course, it was no trouble at all."

"We are… in your debt," he said through his teeth. _Ah_. And what could possibly make them more wary than a cop? A cop they owed. North decided to set _that_ straight immediately.

"Hey, you don't owe me anything. In fact, I owed _you_ guys. You saved my buddy's life once, back in the invasion. As far as I'm concerned, we're even."

Leo regarded him with suspicion. North let him, and then turned to Mike.

"Well, it looks like your brother was okay. Which one was it that needed antibiotics so badly you had to steal them?"

Mike glared at him, and Leo's gaze sharpened, then turned to Don.

"You _stole_ those?" Don flinched.

"Well, it's not like we had a choice," he mumbled, looking away. Leo seethed for a moment, and then turned back to North.

"How did you know about that? Did Michelangelo tell you?"

"No, no. I figured it out from a somewhat odd police report. Don't worry, I'm the only one who saw it for what it was. Your secret is still safe."

Leo turned back to his brother, clearly furious. North was glad to know Leo didn't approve either. He felt rather childish about bringing it up so obviously, but he had to know how this family felt about stealing, and getting straight answers out of Michelangelo even when he wasn't being defensive didn't work.

"I can't believe this! You told me April bought them for you!"

"I didn't want to have to deal with _this_ at the time!" Don was arguing back, something North took to be rare, considering what Mike had told him and also the nervous way their other brothers were watching them. North was almost comforted by the scene. Whatever else they were, these turtles were teenage boys, through and through.

"Deal with _this_? Do you really think I'd hesitate to do whatever it took to save him? I know stealing is wrong, Don, but I wouldn't have stopped you—not when our brother's _life_ was on the line!"

"I know that! It was just simpler to tell you the lie. I meant to tell the truth later, but I never got the chance, and then I forgot."

"Don, since when do you lie just because it's simpler?"

"Since my brother was dying and I barely had enough nerves together to form simple sentences! I could. not. deal. with you at the time. It was not a question of avoiding guilt, it was a matter of keeping me free enough from distractions that I could do what I had to do!"

They were shouting by now. North sighed. Being teenage boys apparently trumped being ninja at least some of the time.

"Hey, guys," he said soothingly. "Let's use our inside voices here, okay?"

They turned to him as though they'd forgotten he was there. North wondered if he should feel flattered by the fact that they apparently felt comfortable enough around him to argue in front of him. He decided to feel flattered. And at least now he knew stealing was a no-no unless it was absolutely necessary. That made him feel better, though if he was being honest with himself, he had no idea what he'd do if it turned out they were a bunch of thieves. Well, actually, if that were the case, he'd probably have to turn them in, or at least stop protecting them. That was when he realized that he had _wanted_ them to be good kids, and he filed that thought away for further perusal later.

"Well, it turned out okay," Mikey said, trying to keep the peace. Leo huffed.

"It obviously didn't turn out well enough if we got into a police report."

"Um, I think our brother not being _dead_ is a pretty good outcome," Don retorted.

"Who was it who slipped up so badly anyway?" Leo asked the night sky. "I know it wasn't me."

"Well, it wasn't me," Mikey said, puffing up it chest. "After all, I'm the Battle Ne—uh." Mike glanced at North, and then away again, clearing his throat. "Anyway."

His brothers were staring at him, their argument forgotten. North tried very hard not to laugh. _Oh, man._ He could see where this was going. (A part of him wondered if Mike had derailed their fight like that on purpose.) Raph looked suspiciously at North, then back at Mikey, who shrugged helplessly, and then back at North. Leo glared at Mike, and then turned to North as well, expression unreadable.

"Has he mentioned that to you?" he asked warily. North swallowed his humor and kept his face interrogation-blank.

"About being Battle Nexus Champion? Oh, yeah, I know all about that."

"And yet he won't say anything about it in front of you," Donny said musingly. Raph's eyes widened.

"Are you telling me you got Mikey to shut up about being Battle Nexus Champion?" the look in the red one's eyes was morphing steadily into respect. North shrugged nonchalantly.

"Well, it's not like I did anything. It's just probably awkward to brag about being Battle Nexus Champion to a fellow Battle Nexus Champion."

The look on their faces was well worth the effort it was taking to keep from cracking a grin.

"You're a—" one of them began.

"Yeah, he's the statue on the right side, about five down from Master Yoshi's," Mike volunteered.

"You mean the one you nearly puked on after your rematch with Kluh?" Donny asked. North raised an eyebrow. "You puked on my statue?"

Mikey looked sheepish. "Only _nearly_," he insisted, shooting a dark look at Don. North sneaked a glance at Leo, who was eyeing him with a little less suspicion now.

"Of course, that was a long time ago," he said, with only a touch of false modesty. It really had been embarrassingly long ago. "My martial arts teacher told me about it, and I entered. That's partly why I'm not exactly bothered by your appearance. That, and I think what you do for the city is great. Of course, my official stance is that vigilantes are a nuisance and should be arrested along with the criminals, but I think I can trust you boys to keep a secret."

Raphael sniggered.

"Vigilantes are a nuisance, huh? Wait'll old hockey mask-face hears about this."

North's eyes narrowed.

"Wait a minute—are you telling me you know _Jason_?" They stared at him. "The vigilante who wears a hockey mask. You know him?"

Mike giggled. "I'm telling him the cops call him Jason."

Raph shook his head sadly. "Well, he deserves it, going around in that getup."

North put his head in his hands in a gesture that was only partly affected. "I don't _believe_ this. The first lead I get on that guy's identity and I can't use it!"

"You mean you don't know who he is?" They seemed surprised at that. He weighed in his mind the benefits of trying to wheedle it out of them versus the trust he wanted to cultivate. The trust won. He shook his head.

"No, and I won't ask you to tell me. I won't even try to read you guys for clues. In fact, let's change the subject entirely."

"Oh, I know!" Mike spoke up, actually raising his hand. North wondered where he'd picked that up, considering he'd never been to school. "How is that girl?"

It took him a second to switch gears.

"Who—oh. Oh! Lindsay Gerhardt? Well… she'll be okay. Eventually." Their faces fell somewhat. He realized that probably sounded bad. "I mean, with counseling. Physically she's fine, just a little dehydrated, some sores. Very glad to be home. But, without you guys, she'd be dead. They were planning to kill her the day after we found her. You guys are heroes." That seemed to make them uncomfortable for some reason. North started to wonder why, and then remembered something. "Oh, that reminds me!" He dug in his pocket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Mike. "This is from her father, for the person who gave the anonymous tip that lead to his daughter's recovery." Mike opened it and pulled out the money inside. North continued softly. "There's $2,000 dollars in there." Mike staggered and fell into Leo, who steadied him absently, staring at North. Don and Raph made their own noises of amazement. "He wanted to give you a medal in a big ceremony, but I told him this would be better appreciated. There's a letter inside."

Mike, completely overcome, handed the letter to Leo, who opened it and read it.

"To my heroes: Words cannot express nor money repay what you have done for me and my daughter. She is all the family I have left, and I would have given up everything to see her safely home. You are angels." Leo's voice faltered, and then went on, stronger. "Please consider this gift a small token of my appreciation, and know also that if you ever have need of anything, I will do everything in my power to help you. Best wishes and much thanks, Frank Gerhardt."

The street corner was silent for a moment. North said finally,

"So, the next time you need a case of antibiotics, you can use that."

Mike gave a helpless sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh. Raph had his back to them. Don was looking at the ground. Leo had locked eyes with North, studying him intently.

"We came here tonight to see if our secret was safe with you," he said. "My gut tells me it is."

North nodded solemnly.

"Of course. You have my word. I won't tell anyone about you."

Leo nodded in return, and North wondered what he'd just gotten himself into.


	4. north, john north

The phone rang. North jolted awake. The phone ringing at this hour could only mean one thing.

"North here," he said, trying to sound awake and authoritative.

"Heeeey, Northie, can I ask you a favor?"

Or two things. It could mean two things. North blinked, trying to get his brain to start.

"Mike?" he asked stupidly.

"The one and only," came the reply. Annoyance was the fuel that finally started up his thought process.

"Michelangelo, are you aware that it is currently two o'clock in the morning?" he demanded, sleep making his voice deeper and more threatening than it would have been normally. Mike 'eeped' on the other end of the line.

"Er, well, yeah, I am, actually. But I really, really, reeeeeeally need you to do something for me."

"I don't know when I ever gave you the impression that being friends with a cop meant you get special favors, but—"

"Oh, no, no, no. I'm not asking you as Officer North: policeman. I asking as, as… what is your first name anyway?"

North stayed silent on the line for a moment, letting him squirm. Then he threw him a bone.

"John."

"John! I'm asking you for a favor as John North: friend to Michelangelo, policeman-type duties not involved in any way shape or form."

"At two in the morning," North said, just to confirm what he was hearing.

"Yup."

"What on earth could possibly be that important?"

"Weeell, I kind of need you to pretend to be my dad."

It was definitely two in the morning. That was the only time that sentence would have made North react as he did. He sighed and simply asked,

"All right, I'll bite. What _exactly_ do you need me to do?"

"Thanks, Northie! I'll pay you back big time! I'll scrub your toilets and bring you breakfast in bed and—"

"Just tell me what's going on, Mike. And remember, I can't do anything illegal."

"Of course not! I just need you to come down and explain to a nice lady that I'm not a thief and that you'll punish me big time for sneaking out and doing perfectly innocent things at two o'clock in the morning."

North yawned and pushed the covers back, trying to remember where he'd left his pants.

"Where are you?" he asked absently, rubbing at his stubble. Oh, yeah, he'd left them on the floor. Mike told him the address, and then added,

"Oh yeah, and just in case you need to know, I told them my name is Michael North, I'm actually fifteen, cause I know you have a sixteen-year-old daughter and I didn't want to be twins, and I have red hair and lots of freckles. Okay, see you there. Bye!"

Mike had hung up before the impact of that had set in. _Red hair and freckles?_ North thought blearily. _What the hell?_

_

* * *

_

Michelangelo did indeed have red hair and freckles. And five fingers on each hand, and pink skin, and no shell. North stared. The boy in front of him waved and laughed weakly.

"Hey, dad."

North tore his eyes off Mike and back to the security guard who was standing sourly behind him.

"I am terribly sorry for my son's behavior," he said, wondering why on earth Michelangelo had decided he needed to break into a paintball store. "You can be sure I will punish him severely when we get home."

The stern look he gave Michelangelo that accompanied those words was not faked in any way. The woman sighed deeply.

"Well, as far as I can tell nothing was stolen or vandalized. I found him sleeping, to be honest."

"I'm not normally out this late!" Mike volunteered. North shot him a glare.

"Is that all?" he asked the woman. "Can I take him home now?"

"Yeah, I'll let it slide this time, since all he did was apparently sneak in and fall asleep. I know how kids are," she said, giving North a sympathetic look. He returned it, and led Michelangelo out of there. Once they were in the car and away, he turned to him and hissed,

"What the hell happened? Why are you_ human_ now?"

Mike didn't answer. He just looked down at his five-fingered hands and wiggled his fingers.

"I don't know," he said slowly. North decided not to pursue it. He looked, frankly, scared. Asking questions he couldn't answer would probably only serve to agitate him. If he had a clue how this had happened, he'd say something.

"What now?" North asked softly. Mike's face crumpled. His emotions were easier to read on a human face, without the mask, which North could see was dangling from his neck like a tie. He composed himself quickly, but he continued to radiate low grade misery.

"I guess now I go home and see what Donnie and Leatherhead can cook up," he said in a voice that was even more raspy than usual. (Leatherhead? Who the—oh, yeah. The alligator. How could he have forgotten about a real live, mutated alligator living in the sewers of New York? The same way he could apparently be more shocked at a boy with red hair and freckles than he would have been at a giant, talking turtle. And he'd thought his life was weird _before_ he met Mike.) North waited a moment.

"You can stay at my place, for now. If you want. You can call your brothers and let them know you're okay."

Mike fiddled with a rip in his hoodie.

"I should go home," he said. "But thanks."

"Just tell me where to drop you off. And call me if you need anything. I have a few days off coming up."

"Thanks North. For… for everything."

North didn't want to think about how final those words sounded. He dropped the boy off near a manhole cover, and lent him his shoes.

"Let me know you're all right," he said, for the second time. Somehow, even though he was unharmed, this time felt more dangerous. Michelangelo nodded, and disappeared down into the sewers. North drove home thoughtfully, and tried to blame the unsettling feeling he had on the fact that he hated driving barefoot.


	5. showdown in the tmnt corral

_This is it. __There might be a sequel, but I make no promises. __Thanks for sticking with me.  
_

* * *

It was time to talk to Splinter.

Michelangelo had been un-humanized by breaking into a secret government lab and—(that was where North had stopped them. He didn't want to know). Then, less than a day after things had been put to rights, the boys had taken it upon themselves to perform a raid on a known Purple Dragon stronghold. This had gone about as well as expected, meaning that while the criminals had been thwarted in their attempt to hide amazing amounts of stolen goods, Michelangelo had gotten injured pretty badly, prompting another, much more hysterical late-night/early morning phone call to North, and instigating a sleepless night during which North wasn't sure his young friend was going to make it. When Michelangelo's fever finally broke he blessed his younger sister Veronica for going over her nursing school homework with him so thoroughly, as well as Donatello for keeping such a cool head. (He'd had to go out and buy some antibiotics during that long night, and he'd carefully noted the irony and then filed it away for later. Much later.)

Then he went about ascertaining what it would take to get an audience with the esteemed Master Splinter.

Not that he was that snide with the turtles. And truthfully, if he were to be honest with himself, he'd kind of demonized the old rat in his head as the instigator of the danger the boys so often found themselves in. He resolved to be fair when he actually spoke to him, but he was finding it hard not to be disrespectful in his head. There had been a scary moment where Michelangelo's heart had stopped beating, and during those few seconds, North had performed the semi-blasphemous task of praying to God for Mike's health and calling on the devil to curse the one that had done this to him. It wasn't until the unreal car-ride a few hours later to pick up the antibiotics that he realized the one he'd pictured in his curse had been a humanoid rat.

_Would I have done that a week ago_, he'd wondered. _Would I have reacted that strongly before? _Somehow, seeing Mike as a human had driven home in his mind just how young the boys were, how vulnerable.

Sitting across from his own daughter during one of her rare visitation weekends, he tried to picture asking her (even assuming she somehow knew ninjutsu) to go into a warehouse full of thugs and other bad men and fight them. Then his traitorous mind pictured her lying in a bathtub, dying. He knew it was an unfair comparison, but the horror stayed with him.

He wondered, as he trekked through the sewers, what he wanted out of the old rat.

Splinter had agreed to meet him, in the lair even, though he had to be blindfolded before they would take him there. The fact that they required it of everyone did little to ease the sting of distrust.

The lair was everything Michelangelo had said it was, and several things he hadn't. For one, it smelled. Not quite unpleasantly, but rather strongly, mostly of that peculiar musk that was mutant turtle. There were other scents: rat, incense, sweat (lots of that, mixed in with the turtle-musk), the sharp stink of the sewers hiding behind the other scents, and a sweet-ish lemon scent that North identified as some sort of cleaning agent. It was definitely a bachelor pad, though admittedly a well-kept one.

Splinter's room was the source of the incense. North settled himself down in _seiza_ in front of the rat. The floor was hard beneath his knees, sending his memory back to his days in the dojo of Garrity-sensei, where it lingered for a few moments. He brought himself back to the present to find Splinter gazing at him calmly, his face completely blank. It was a little hard to read expressions on a face so unlike a humans', but Splinter looked as inscrutable as a police officer. Well. He _was_ the father of four teenage boys.

"Hello, Mister North," Splinter said. His accent was Japanese, his voice soft but carrying. He did not sound nearly as old as Michelangelo had made him out to be, though, to be fair, North hadn't really thought Splinter was "like, a thousand years old."

"Hello, Mister Splinter," North replied. He thought he heard a hushed noise from outside the room, and a whispered voice (it had to be Mikey) said incredulously, "_Mister_ Splinter?"

"My sons, I believe April is expecting you," Splinter said in a slightly louder tone, an amused look on his face. "Do not be late."

There was a shuffle, and then a few moments later Splinter relaxed and smiled apologetically at North.

"Kids," he said, and some of North's antagonism fell away. He'd expressed the same sentiment himself on occasion. Splinter shifted his weight slightly, and his tone was more business-like as he said, "Michelangelo indicated you wished to discuss something important with me."

North nodded, feeling suddenly, inexplicably, ashamed. This was not the monster of his imagination. This was a single father raising four boys, doing the best he could under the circumstances. And yet…

"I am concerned about the boys," North said, then, steeling himself, "Specifically the fact that you let them patrol the city and fight crime. They're… awfully young to be doing that sort of thing."

Splinter nodded slowly. "And this concerns you," he said. It was not a question. North nodded. Splinter sighed. "You disapprove."

North cringed inside. What had he been thinking, coming here like this? What business was it of his? The thought of Michelangelo lying in a bathtub bleeding and shivering with fever gave him courage. He had a right to be concerned, even if he couldn't do anything but talk to the source of those concerns.

"Yes, I do disapprove. I understand that your circumstances are nothing short of extraordinary, but… Well, I have a sixteen-year-old daughter myself, Mister Splinter. I worry so much about her, and she doesn't even intentionally put herself in danger. I worry about your sons. I… I think of them as my own, in a way."

He felt embarrassed, somehow, admitting that. But Splinter smiled.

"I am pleased to hear it. I am also glad to know that your disapproval rises out of genuine concern for my sons. It will make this easier, I hope."

Splinter closed his eyes, and a strange expression passed over his face. North thought it might be pain. After a moment he opened his eyes and spoke.

"If you, a relative stranger, worry about my sons, how do you think I feel every time they leave the lair, every time they go into battle, every time they come home hurt? I taught them ninjutsu so that they could protect themselves from the outside world, because I knew that simply cowering in the sewers would not protect them forever. I knew that _I_ could not protect them forever. And even then, when they were so small they could barely walk, much less do katas, I could see what my future held: hours spent waiting, staring at the first aid supplies set out in front of me, wondering if those small bandages and antiseptic cream would be enough. I knew this, and a part of me wanted to cower in the sewers after all, curl up around my sons and keep them with me always. But I knew that I could not. To do so would be to damage them in ways worse than their enemies ever could. I knew that I could not be there forever, and that they would need their independence in order to survive without me. I also knew there was a very real possibility that the skills I was teaching them could be turned to evil purposes. Ninjutsu is a dark heritage in many ways, Mister North, and I would rather have hid in the sewers and lived as animals, scrounging for scraps, than have my sons grow up to be villains. The only way to combat that, however, was to instill in them a virtue and respect for life so powerful that they could not help but act on it, and in so doing, condemn myself to this life of waiting. And possibly, I know, Mister North, condemn them to a short life. But I would rather have sons who would die protecting the weak and innocent than sons who would cower in safety thinking only of themselves and their own survival. I have four such sons, which is both my greatest joy and my greatest pain."

North swallowed at the lump in his throat. The demon was gone, exorcised by a rat with moral strength enough to choose the hardest path a father could choose. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would have chosen to cower in the dark, and he knew it made Splinter the better man—rat. When his voice was steady again, he said,

"Thank you, Mister Splinter. You do have four fine sons, and I am proud to know them."

Splinter smiled.

"Thank you, Mister North. Have I addressed all your concerns?"

North nodded.

"Yes. Yes, you have. Please, if there's anything I can do for you and your boys, just let me know."

"I will. It does my heart good to know that my sons have yet another ally on the surface world."

When the turtles came back with April O'Neil, North and Splinter were sitting in the kitchen drinking tea and chatting. North caught Michelangelo's eye and nodded. Mike's face broke into a relieved smile, and North got up to be introduced to April.


End file.
